Ships in the Night
by tothemountains
Summary: A young human woman from our world finds herself in Azeroth. Rather than choosing to side with the alliance like most humans, she signs a contract of convenience that forces her to go where most in their right minds never would. Fortunately, she's not the only crazy person stranded on this planet. Primarily Maraad/OFC. BC to Legion & beyond. Rated M for violence and sexuality.


A young human woman from our world finds herself in Azeroth. When the Kirin Tor learn of her existence, she is disappointed to find that even Khadgar sees her as only a means to an end. Rather than choosing to side with the alliance like most humans, she signs a contract of convenience that forces her to go where most in their right minds never would. Fortunately, she's not the only crazy person stranded on this planet. / primarily Maraad/OFC, later OC/OFC / BC to Legion and beyond / Rated M for scenes of graphic violence and sexuality.

* * *

 **Ships in the Night**

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

There was a saying back on Earth: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Lizzie never believed it.

She didn't believe it when she barely survived a car accident last year. She didn't believe it after her father was murdered just a few months before that. And she didn't believe it now.

The bomb should have killed her. She should have been dead.

Instead, she was very much alive, and still very much in awe of just about everything. And she had already seen more than she'd ever imagined.

Dalaran wasn't supposed to be real, but here she was, lounging on a cool stone bench in the warm Hillsbrad sun, staring up at the glistening silver and purple spires of the very real, very beautiful city. A golden gryphon soared past overhead, mounted by a heavily armored rider carrying an enormous, burnished gold mace that glinted in the sun. Had it been night, the light show of sparks left behind would have certainly been more spectacular. She wasn't sure how the rider was able to ride and also carry something so large that was literally on fire—but then she wasn't sure how she had gotten here in the first place—or how "here" even existed as a physical reality—so why start questioning physics now?

She had hoped that the Kirin Tor would be able to give her at least a few answers. She had been on Azeroth for approximately three months, but had only made it to the Eastern Kingdoms two days ago. She arrived by boat in Stormwind, then took a gryphon to Ironforge where she and her night elf escort Alyndra had rested comfortably for the night, then picked up a fresh gryphon the following morning. Lizzie liked flying, even if she was merely along for the ride and not actually in control. The ones they'd rented for these regularly used flight paths were well-trained and docile, but also fast as fuck. They arrived in Dalaran last night.

"Lizzie!"

Alyndra's musical voice echoed across the courtyard. She straightened to see the lavender-skinned elf practically skipping towards her, her long, silver ponytail bouncing behind her. How different she looked from the steel-faced sentinel that Lizzie had met a month earlier.

"Archmage Modera would like to personally speak with you!" Alyndra beckoned to her with an excited smile on her face, her small fangs just visible for a moment. "Come on!"

Lizzie got up and followed the elf back across the courtyard, hurrying to keep up with her long, graceful strides. She was almost the same height as Alturion—about seven feet. Most night elves were. She wondered where he was now. She wondered if he was ok.

Alyndra led her down a long, silent corridor with high, arched ceilings, then up a winding staircase that seemed to go on forever. When they finally made it to the top, Lizzie had to pause to catch her breath. Alyndra didn't seem the least bit fazed, only annoyed that she had to wait.

"The archmage is in the next room. I'll wait here," she said, motioning to an open doorway behind her. Lizzie walked slowly through the room, entranced by the lush carpets, the purple and gold pillows that covered plush couches, the elaborate cloth draped across the windows, sewn with silver thread that seemed to glow with its own magical essence. She was in Dalaran, she reminded herself, still not quite believing it. Dalaran was literally the city of Azeroth's most powerful magi. Everything here was saturated with the arcane.

"So you're the one Fordragon mentioned in his letter."

Lizzie heard her before she saw her. Modera was tall and strong shouldered. Her blonde locks showed clear signs of graying, and there were lines in her face, but her eyes were crisp blue and glinted with interest as she turned to greet her.

"For some reason, I pictured you taller." The mage smiled warmly. "No matter. You're young. And you don't belong to Azeroth, do you?"

Lizzie opened her mouth to speak, but Modera wasn't finished.

"This is definitely unusual. I heard about the ship that crashed on the islands near Teldrassil. Refugees escaping the Burning Legion. Apparently, they call themselves Draenei."

"I know. I met them."

Modera didn't seem to hear her. "They're from another world. Somewhere very far away, with a name we'll never know no doubt. Like you. So how did you get here?"

The silence was deafening as Modera waited expectantly for her reply. She had none.

"I was hoping… I came here so you could tell me that," Lizzie said slowly.

Modera clench her jaw faintly, then turned away and crossed the room, pulling a large tome from a shelf above her head.

"These things do not just happen. The amount of power it would take to transport someone from one planet to another across the vastness of the Twisting Nether would be massive. No ordinary mage would be capable of such a feat—and I can tell you're not a mage, or a priest, or frankly a wielder of any kind of power. You should consider getting yourself some training."

"I can shoot a bow. I learned a little from the elves."

"From the Kaldorei?"

Lizzie nodded, realizing she would need to be more specific if she knew any better.

Modera shrugged slightly and focused her attention on the book in her hands, her eyes flitting back and forth over what she was reading.

"So is there anything you can actually do for me?" Lizzie asked, breaking the long silence.

Modera looked up again and closed the book with a thud. "It may help if you tell me a little more about what happened to you. Whatever you remember."

Lizzie hesitated, watching spellbound as the book floated up from Modera's fingers and slid back onto the high shelf by itself, as though it weighed nothing.

"I was walking to work—I lived in the city." She didn't think Modera would care about the name, since she had probably never heard of New York. "I don't think I had walked more than a few minutes from my house when there was an explosion. The last thing I remember was my head hitting the sidewalk, and then I woke up."

"In Durotar?"

"Yeah."

"What happened next?"

"An orc found me and took me into Orgrimmar. I sat in a prison cell for three days before I was finally able to talk to Thrall."

"You wanted to talk to Thrall? How did you know him?"

Lizzie hesitated. How could she even explain this? Would she even be believed?

 _Alturion believed you,_ said a quiet voice in the back of her mind.

She shoved it away. He was gone now.

Modera tilted her face down a little, trying to get a closer look at her. "Lizzie?"

She thought over her time with the Horde. She thought about her preconceptions, and how they had been dashed to pieces. She thought about how overwhelming everything had been.

She was still overwhelmed.

"Maybe I should just start at the beginning," she offered.

Modera nodded, motioning to a cushioned seat nearby. "Tell me everything."

* * *

 _3 months earlier_

The blast ricocheted through the air all around her, knocking her off her feet. She was sure she heard the crunch of her skull on the concrete. Then she was cold. Pain throbbed through her head and body, tearing at her abdomen. She felt as though her body was being forced through a wood chipper. Then she felt nothing. Only heat. Searing, scorching, unbearable heat.

She opened her eyes to blinding sunlight and a clear, blue sky. Course sand scratched the backs of her arms. She forced herself to inhale, tasting dust as she did.

She was sure she was dead. If this was heaven—no, more likely it was hell. It was so hot. She frowned at the thought that she somehow hadn't made it into heaven.

She turned her head to the side, imagining an endless wasteland stretching all around her, just waiting to torment her for all eternity. Instead, she saw a dinosaur.

She squinted. A raptor loped lazily across the sand about a hundred yards away, its long, stiff tail bobbing behind it. Its rear legs were large and muscular, like that of an ostrich, and two sets of ebony hooked claws on its front glistened in the bright sun. It looked like it had walked off the set of the latest Jurassic Park film—except that its leathery skin was a dusty shade of turquoise.

She lay there on the hot ground, watching silently, waiting for it to move off. It hadn't seemed to notice her yet. It paused, lifting its snout to the air. It appeared to be inhaling, sniffing, testing the air. Sharp fangs jutted out from its upper jaw as a curious combination of chirps and clicks came out of its throat.

Suddenly, it stiffened, eyes glistening and alert, head cocked. Then it ducked its head and charged in her direction.

Lizzie scrambled up out of the sand. The world swayed as she struggled to her feet. She had to run.

She didn't take more than five steps when she collided with a tall, smelly… she lurched away as she looked up. What _was_ this thing? It's skin was the color of the Hulk. It was also the size of the Hulk. Jesus, was this the Hulk? Whatever it was, it had large tusks jutting out of its lower jaw. A long scar ran down the side of its head, across its cheek and lips, and under the opposite side of its jaw. Dusty brown hair was tightly braided back from its rough face, and its ears were short and pointed. She could hardly believe what she was seeing.

He grunted at her in a language she didn't understand or recognize. In fact, she'd never heard the sounds coming off of his tongue in her life, and she'd traveled quite a bit. He shoved her back, making her stumble. Then he raised a massive bow and slid an arrow into a position that meant it was ready to fire. She heard the heavy thud first. She turned and realized the raptor hadn't been chasing her. It had been pursuing this… green Hulk-like person. The raptor was now twitching on the sandy ground, a thick arrow protruding from its chest.

The green creature continued speaking in his unfamiliar language, eyeing her as it lumbered around her and retrieved its arrow. She could feel the ground shake ever so slightly as he passed. Then he turned back to her and put a large hand around her neck, lifting her off her feet.

Whatever he was shouting in her face, she had no idea. She was too busy clawing at his grip around her neck to care. She could barely breathe. She could feel her windpipe being compressed and fought for air. The creature spat in her face as he spoke, brown eyes furious and searching. She couldn't respond—even if she had understood what he was saying. Clearly dissatisfied with her lack of response, he let her go. She crumpled into the dirt, gasping, fingers clawing at the sand until the stars in her vision faded away. Just in time for her to be yanked up by her arm and pulled along by the creature. She thought she was going to lose her arm now. She stumbled over her own feet just to keep up.

Looking up in the direction they were headed, her breath caught in her throat. In the distance, she thought she saw a mirage. She was going crazy, she thought. There were tall structures rising up out of the horizon, towers burnished red, their spiked parapets touching the sky and glistening in the sunlight. These towers, positioned along massive stone walls, were strikingly familiar. She had seen this place before.

But not in real life.

This creature pulling her along was an orc, and those towers…

As they drew closer, she could make out the banners hanging from the towers. An unmistakable black emblem on a rusted red background.

"What the fuck?" she croaked. The orc grunted and yanked her along.

* * *

How could this be real? How could this possibly be real? It felt real. It sounded real. It certainly smelled real. But it shouldn't have been real.

The orc in the cell next to her bellowed and roared as a guard jabbed his pike in between the bars, just slicing into the prisoner's shoulder enough to make him back off. A second guard said something to the first and they laughed. Lizzie looked on in horror as the offender collapsed to the ground, holding a massive hand over his wound as dark blood dripped down his green skin. The guards barely spared a glance for her as they passed.

This was the fifth time in three days that she had seen this particular orc be treated so horribly. She wondered what he had done to deserve it. He was filthy and he smelled like feces. He must have been in here for months. She felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. She was a human. That was probably enough of an excuse for them to leave her down here just as long too. It was a wonder they hadn't outright killed her yet. That could only mean that Garrosh probably wasn't Warchief. With that realization, she might be able to narrow down what time period she had arrived in. She prayed it was after everything that had happened in Legion—however that had ended. She could only hope for a peace time, in which she might just be able to get out of Orgrimmar with all of her limbs.

She tried calling out to the guards, throwing out different names of Horde characters she could remember being Warchief at one time or another. Vol'jin? Sylvanas? They didn't respond, until the name Thrall left her lips. They both turned and looked at her with suspicious eyes, then muttered to each other. She cursed the fact that they couldn't understand her, then proceeded to keep talking at them, hoping they would get a clue.

"Look, I'm not supposed to be here, but maybe if I could talk to Thrall—he's the Warchief right? If he's Warchief, then that means…" She wracked her brain for what she could remember of the lore.

She had started playing the game when she was in high school. Her guildies had said she was boring for playing a blood elf. The first toon she'd ever made was a human warrior. Then her friends in high school convinced her to roll horde so they could play together. The only character option that seemed decent to her was a female blood elf. Human looking enough, but with pointy ears. And she could still play a warrior. She gave her character long, amber hair and called her Soongjia, to make fun of her brother for choosing to go by his Korean name, Seung Ji, instead of his English one. After that she never looked back.

She remembered distinctly the thrill of raiding Icecrown Citadel, and she remembered the day the Cataclysm changed the game forever. After that she had taken a break, somewhat annoyed with those changes. She'd gone to college. She'd dropped out of college. She'd met Jonas. Then the car accident happened, and she'd dabbled with the game during the latest expansion, Legion, while sitting in the hospital for weeks. She hadn't made it far into the game before she quit again, right before the Tomb of Sargeras raid opened, because her guild had disbanded.

One of the guards approached her cell and grumbled something at her, but she managed to make out the word Thrall.

"Yes, I want to talk to Thrall!" She pointed at herself. "Let me talk to Thrall!"

She wasn't sure it would do any good, but what other choice did she have?

The guard turned to his companion and they exchanged words again.

"Please? I'm not supposed to be here. Just let me talk to Thrall, and I'm sure we can figure this out."

She flashed an uneasy grin, as though that might make her captors more at ease. They just stared at her, then one of them strode away down the corridor and up the stairs, out of sight. The other guard ignored her for the rest of the day. She planted herself on a filthy stool in the corner of her cell, and willed the time to continue passing her by.

* * *

The following morning, she was awoken by a rough boot digging into her shoulder. She lifted her face from the compacted dirt that made up her cell floor, and saw her two guards standing over her.

One of them said something in a commanding tone and stuck his boot into her shoulder again. She scrambled to her feet rather groggily.

"Alright, alright. Jesus. I'm getting up."

The moment she was standing up straight, they each grabbed one of her arms and promptly pulled her out of the cell.

"Where are you taking me? What are you doing?"

Her protests were ignored, of course. Neither of them uttered a word. They dragged her up the stairs and into the bright sunlight above. She groaned and squinted, then took in a deep breath of the fresh, hot air. It smelled noticeably less like shit up here.

"We better be going to see Thrall," she muttered, now not caring if they heard her.

She was pulled along, sometimes being yanked at so hard that her arms hurt, and she made her displeasure known. The guards didn't seem to care. She took this opportunity to try and take in her surroundings. They passed throngs of green orcs, most of the males big and burly, while the females were more slight in comparison, but still built like tanks compared to her own measly human self. The orcs were fascinating, but they didn't even compare to the Tauren. Massive, hulking cow people with huge horns stomped by, or paused to leer. Some even had heavy looking rings in their noses that glistened in the desert sun. The Tauren women she saw looked terrifying. She didn't want to think about what they could do to someone in a fight. Blue skinned trolls passed, some hunched, a few standing straighter. The few Forsaken that she saw sent her suspicious looks. One with the skin missing from half his face made her look twice.

As they continued on their way through the city, she suddenly realized what was missing.

The elves.

No matter the question of where. She knew where she was, even though it seemed impossible. No, all she wanted desperately to know now was _when_?

Had she really gone back to Vanilla?

She laughed softly at herself. She couldn't imagine that a reality like this one followed the rules of the game it had come from. The entire idea of it made her roll her eyes at herself. None of this should have been real, and yet a leathery skinned kodo lumbered by, led by a particularly large Tauren, throwing a cloud of dust into the air that made her cough and sputter.

She wondered briefly how many humans had made it this deep into horde territory and come out unscathed. At the way she was being yanked around by her two guard companions, she wasn't sure she would be unscathed—if she made it out at all.

* * *

 _I have extensive plans for this story. Please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!_


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